


What's In a Name

by shadowhostage (thenakednymph)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Crossover, Dovakin, Dragonborn Merlin, Dragonborn!Merlin, Gen, M/M, Skyrim - Freeform, Solstheim, implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/shadowhostage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short discussion over armor polishing and the power of words. Merlin implies he's Dovahkiin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Don’t be ridiculous Merlin. Words have no power. A word is a word.”

Merlin smiled to himself, that secretive smile Arthur hadn’t quite learned to decipher just yet. “Oh I don’t know,” he said, polishing a chest plate from a corner of the room. He couldn’t tell if the smudge he was working on was really a smudge or a trick of the light. “Some words have power.”

Arthur scoffed. “Yes, I’d like to see you shout a mountain into moving because it’s in your way,” he drawled.

Merlin’s smiling reflection in the surface of the steel went grim and distant. “No,” he murmured softly, “you wouldn’t.” Arthur looked up from the speech he was supposed to be writing to study his manservant. “It’s terrifying,” Merlin breathed, miles away even though he hadn’t moved. “To see something that permanent crumble to dust right in front of you.” His hands stilled on the armor; remembering. “Knowing it took only a word to bring it down.” He shivered, nails scraping against the armor.

  
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I think you’ve been spending too much time in the stables.”

Merlin’s head snapped up and his hands automatically started working again, drawn out of his thoughts by Arthur’s voice. “What?”

“You’re beginning to talk horse shit.”

Merlin’s laughter echoed through the doors and down the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin hummed quietly to himself, shutting the door to Arthur’s chamber’s behind him, a tray loaded with assorted dishes and food scraps balanced precariously in his hand. He stepped merrily down the hall in a rare good mood, waving to Gaius as he approached, stepping carefully up the stairs, his robes gathered in his hands to keep them from tripping him up.  


“Gaius, what brings you here this early? We’ve already made potions runs,” he said, extending his free hand to help Gaius the rest of the way.  


Gaius smiled fondly. “I am well aware, thank you Merlin.” He grunted as he reached the top stair, pausing to catch his breath and Merlin guided him to the side and out of the way of the passing servants. “I’m getting too old for this,” he grumbled and Merlin laughed.  


“You’re too stubborn to let a pair of stairs beat you,” he teased.  


“Bah. That’s what I have you for.” He waved Merlin away, and straightened. “Speaking of which, this just came for you, I thought you might like to have it.” Gaius pulled a wrinkled letter, seal still in place, from his robes and handed it to Merlin whose heart leapt at the sight of it and he nearly dropped the tray.  


“It’s from your father,” Gaius said quietly as if Merlin needed to be told. He caught Merlin’s hands around the letter before he could open it. “Put it away,” he urged. “You can read it later.”  


Merlin ached to open it now. It had been over a month since the last one and Merlin had grown worried. At least now he knew Balinor was still alive, the letter was proof of that. He tucked the letter away where it spent the next few hours burning a hole in his pocket until he made some excuse to Arthur and managed to slip away to a dark corner where he practically tore the letter in half in his rush to open it.  


Inside he found only bad news. By the time he reached the end his joyous mood was all but gone, fear settling cold and hard as a stone in his stomach leaving his palms slick and a bone deep cold in him no fire could chase away. He ran for Gaius’ chambers, the letter clutched in his hands, nearly bowling over several guards on his way, too blind with fear to apologize.  


“Gaius,” he called before he’d even thrown open the door. Startled Gaius upset the bottles he was examining and they shattered against the stone floor as Merlin threw himself into the room, sweaty and panting from the run.  


“For goodness sake boy,” Gaius scolded, glaring down at the potions spreading across the cobbles, but then he saw the look on Merlin’s face and all anger vanished under a wave of concern. “Merlin?”  


“He’s going after him,” Merlin breathed, hardly able to bring the words past the tightness in his throat, like a noose, slowly constricting around his neck until he could barely breathe. “He’s already gone after Miraak. This letter is already a week old,” he cried, shaking the offending letter at Gaius, his face flushed with rage. “He’s going to get himself killed.”  


Gaius waved Merlin inside and sank onto an old chair, taking the letter and reading it as Merlin paced back and forth, tearing at his hair, unable to stand still.  


“What is he thinking? We don’t know enough about the books or what Miraak has planned or-” He turned to Gaius. “How could he have left without me? He was supposed to take me with him.”  


Gaius set the letter aside and sighed heavily, aging several years in a moment. “Merlin,” he said slowly, the word drawn out and tired, “you are his son. The last of the Dragonlords.” He looked up, catching Merlin’s eye. “You are Dovakiin. Your father is giving you a chance to fight back if he doesn’t succeed.” He drew Merlin to his side, urging him to sit. “You know why he didn’t take you with him,” he said softly.  


Merlin nodded, but hated it just the same. “Because while Balinor is still alive I’m just a warlock,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t have a chance against Miraak. I have no voice.” He spoke quietly with resignation and the pain of understanding, squeezing Gaius’ weathered hand. “I know. I just- I hate not knowing. He could be dead and I’d never even know.”  


Gaius quirked an eyebrow. “Well, there’s always one way to tell.”  


“What, shout in the middle of Camelot?” Merlin scoffed. “Yeah, that’d go over real well.”  


Gaius reached out and smoothed Merlin’s hair. “Still, should you choose to try it is solid proof that your father still lives.”  


“Until I shout and it works,” he murmured to himself and Gaius’ lips thinned.  


“Until then,” he admitted. “But good or bad at least you would know.”  


Merlin stared down at the cobbles beneath his feet, scuffing his boots against them. “I’ll think about it,” he promised. He was almost afraid to try. At least now there was the possibility his father was alive, but should he shout and it actually work…that would be devastating.  


“I should get back. Arthur will be wondering where I am.” He rose and fiddled with his hands for a moment, staring down at the letter Gaius had set on the table.  


Gaius watched him leave, knowing in his heart Merlin had already decided to go whether or not Balinor lived; it was only a matter of time.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin tugged on his lower lip, staring out at the trees and trying to work up the courage to attempt a shout. He’d decided on Aura Whisper, the most surreptitious of the Thu’um and the one least likely to get him noticed should it work; and what if it did work, what then? What if Balinor really was dead? The fear of not knowing either way was killing him, but knowing was almost worse than not.

Merlin put his face in his hands, snakes twisting in his gut and he trembled, wracked with indecision. But what if he was alive, what then? Could Merlin really bring himself to just sit here, day after day, just waiting; and for what? If his father succeeded in defeating Miraak he many not even be able to come back from Mora’s realm for all they knew; there was still so much left unknown about the black books and the Daedric Prince and it was enough to drive anyone mad.

Together Merlin and his father had been tracking Miraak’s movements over the years through a contact in Solstheim, Glover Mallory, an old friend of his father’s from his less than savory days as Balinor so fondly liked to describe his time with the Thieves Guild. Until recently Miraak had only been in possession of one of the books, but now it seemed he’d found several more if Balnior’s letter was to be believed; and Merlin didn’t have much of a choice, the threat alone was enough to frighten him into belief. If it was true, if Miraak really did have more of the books Merlin couldn’t wait around, trading letters back and forth with Mallory when they could be weeks, even months late; if he wanted answers he’d have to find them in person and that meant using the Thu’um.

Forcing himself to stand, Merlin shook out his clenched fists and took a deep breath. It was now or never. Bringing the words to the fore of his mind he let his mouth form them as he’d done a hundred times before, only now his eyes flashed and the shout slipped from his lips in a soft whisper, like water trickling through a crack in a wall, thrumming deep in his throat and rattling down his chest and into his bones, settling there like the weight of a mountain he would forever carry within him; a burden he would never be rid of.

“LaaS Yah Nir,” he breathed and the world slanted, changing beneath the veil of the Thu’um. Trees faded to shadows, the light growing dull and worn all around him. Everything turned grey, save for the throbbing hearts of a doe and her fawn several yards to his left, beating with the heat of life. In the distance he could see a group of men, probably guards on patrol, stark red against the dark and he knew.

Dispelling the shout, Merlin nearly lost his balance as the world came back into focus, tears welling in his eyes. A hole in his chest seemed to open, hollow and dark where once his father had been.

Expecting the worst and knowing it were two different things. Merlin thought he’d been prepared for it, but the shock nearly dropped him to his knees. He tangled his fingers in the roughspun of his pants, struggling to stay upright, fighting against the wave of sorrow threatening to overwhelm him. It was true then; his father was dead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right you guys. New chapter because I've been writing. I'm not sold on this chapter, but it doesn't seem to want to go any other way. Heads up that it may be prone to editing of the plot at a later date. 
> 
> Canon divergence

_Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,_   
_Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal-!_

“A tavern. I might have known I’d find you in a tavern!” The music stuttered to a stop and murmurs filled the room, all glancing at the stranger who’d thrown open the door.

Merlin nearly choked on his ale as a familiar voice boomed through the bunkhouse. He spun around, swiping at the froth of ale on his chin as Arthur stormed towards him.

“What are you-” he choked, still reeling from the alcohol he’d inhaled, but he stopped short as Arthur reached the table, hands on his royal hips and Merlin had to crane his neck back to look up at him.

“Do we have a problem here?” Haelga had a serving tray caught between her waist and the swell of a full hip, and no doubt a dagger close at hand in case of trouble; she was always ready that way. It was one of the things Merlin liked about her; she took flack from no one, man or woman, Nord or Argonian and he had a great deal of respect for her.

She shot a narrow-eyed look at Arthur and Merlin laid a hand on Arthur’s arm, smiling to soothe her anger.

“It’s all right Haelga,” he coaxed. “He’s a friend.”  
Haelga pursed her lips, obviously suspicious, but trusted Merlin enough to let him handle his own problems.

“All right,” she finally relented. She bent at the waist, resting a fist on the surface of the table, her ample bosom swelling against the laces of her bodice. “But I want no trouble from him.” She spoke softly but firmly to Merlin, ignoring Arthur for the moment. “Friend or no I won’t be havin’ no trouble here Ambrose.” She cast one last look at Arthur and murmured, “for someone who’s trying to lay low you’re drawing an awful lot of attention to yourself,” she warned. Her mouth was an angry line, but her eyes were worried. “You need anything you just ask.” She straightened then, raising her voice so anyone close by could hear.

“Well rein him in then,” she snapped, “people are trying to sleep or enjoy a drink in peace. And stop gwakin’ at my patrons.” She turned briskly on her heel and stormed off to tend the bar.

Merlin smiled tightly and yanked Arthur down into a chair. “Sit down before you offend someone with your staring,” Merlin hissed between his teeth. Several of the Khajiit were still casting ugly looks their way and Merlin smiled until they turned away. He waved at a barmaid for another flagon of ale to replace the one he’d spilled and another for Arthur, leaving a generous tip on the tray.

“Don’t make any more of an ass of yourself than you already have. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Arthur finally stopped staring at the scattering of Argonian and Khajiit throughout the room and seemed to remember why he was there in the first place.

“Did you really think you could sneak off in the middle of the night without me knowing about it?” he demanded in his prattish kind of way.  
“Day,” Merlin said around the rim of his tankard.

“What?”

Merlin had to swallow a mouthful of ale before he could respond. “I left in the middle of the day,” he clarified, “not the night.”  
“It makes no difference,” Arthur scolded. “Did you really think you could leave and I wouldn’t know about it?”

“No, but I didn’t expect you to follow me across the sea.” He gave Arthur an appraising look before turning away. “You should have stayed in Camelot Arthur, this is no place for you.”

Arthur blinked, staring at Merlin like he was seeing him for the first time. Maybe he was noticing the dark circles under Merlin’s eyes, or his unkempt hair. Traveling by sea had never agreed with Merlin. He looked ragged and worn, salt stains on his clothes and a weariness hung about his shoulders like a mantle.

All the anger melted from Arthur as he watched Merlin twist his flagon around in circles, staring down at the rippling surface. Worry creased Arthur’s features and he leaned across the table.

“Merlin, what’s wrong?” He reached for Merlin’s hand but Merlin pulled away before they could touch.

“Nothing. You shouldn’t have come.”

Arthur rested his elbows on the table, his brows furrowing. “You’re my friend,” he said, as if that should explain everything.

Merlin finally looked at him, anger sparking in his eyes. “And as your friend I’m telling you, you shouldn’t have come.” He pushed back from the table and stood, glaring down at Arthur. “Go back to Camelot and your father,” he snapped with more venom than he’d intended, turning his back on Arthur and walking away, dropping a few more coins on the bar for the meal he’d left uneaten.

Arthur scrambled to catch up, but Merlin was already out the door and walking down the cobbled streets, keeping to the shadows and away from the wooden railing and the reeking stench of stagnant water and rotting fish coming up from the other side.

Catching Merlin’s arm Arthur spun him around, staring in surprise at the fury in Merlin’s eyes as he slapped Arthur’s hand away.

“Can’t you understand?” he asked before Arthur could speak. “It’s dangerous out here. Skyrim isn’t like Camelot.”

Arthur’s smile was pompous, his posture relaxed. “There’s no danger I can’t handle Merlin,” he drawled. He tone was light, teasing even, but Merlin’s glare was icy. Whatever was bothering him that had been the wrong thing to say.

“You’re a fool.” He walked away but before Arthur could call out he spun back around, advancing the few steps he’d taken. “You really think you’ve seen danger? You’ve seen toys, a child’s conjuring. The rules are different here. You can’t fight all your battles with a bloody sword! Brute force isn’t going to work.”

Arthur shrugged him off, seeming completely unaffected by Merlin’s outburst. “It’s worked before.” He grinned, but it slipped away in the chill face of Merlin’s rage.

Merlin stilled at the words in a way that made the hair on Arthur’s neck stand on end.

“What good is steel against a man who can shout you to death,” he whispered. “Can tear you a man apart limb from limb with a single word?” As he spoke his eyes began to glow, fire curling along his fingers and licking up his arms as he advanced on Arthur who stumbled back in alarm.

“What good is a sword” Merlin pressed “against a dragon that can freeze you into a block of ice from a hundred feet in the air? How do you fight a coven of vampires, or werewolves, assassins, wizards, mages, and witches? What good is a sword Arthur Pendragon against all the demons of the night?” He was shouting now and Arthur was staring in abject horror, his sword half drawn in defense as fire danced all along Merlin’s arms and shoulders, flickering along the edges of his dark hair and swallowing his head and throat. “How do you expect to kill the man my own father couldn’t?” he screamed, tears evaporating on his cheeks in the heat of the flames.

“Oi!” One of the guards called and Merlin recalled the fire, ashamed at his loss of control. “No destruction magic,” the guard warned. Merlin ground his teeth and clenched his fists, the fire vanishing in a ripple of heat as the light flickered out of his eyes.

Arthur was left speechless, slowly unlocking his hand from the pommel of his sword, trying to think past the panic in his head. This was Merlin, his manservant, Merlin whom he’d known for years, who was his friend. Merlin who couldn’t possibly be a sorcerer because magic was outlawed in Camelot…

His lips were parted in silence as Merlin turned, storming towards a derelict house at the end of the street, leaving Arthur to watch from the shadows.

Merlin knelt in front of the door and Arthur approached warily. It took him a moment to realize he was picking the lock. Arthur thought about saying something to stop him but thought better of it. When Merlin finally opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it open instead of slamming it in Arthur’s face, he followed.

Arthur came in just in time to see Merlin send a bolt of fire into the empty hearth where it burned without wood. Arthur’s mouth went dry. He’d never seen such a blatant display of magic, let alone from Merlin and the dawning realization chilled him; Merlin had magic. His hands trembled and he forced them into fists.

Merlin’s back was to Arthur and to distract himself Arthur looked about the room at the rafters, the floor, the walls, anything but Merlin.  
“What is this place?” he asked when the silence became unbearable.

Merlin’s shoulder’s sagged and for a moment Arthur was afraid he would collapse. “A house Arthur,” he said softly, “it’s a house.” He bent to right a chair, staring down at it like it held the answer to whatever question he was seeking. “It belonged to my father.” He ran his thumb idly over the grace he’d burned into the corner of the chair when he was nine. He lifted his head and stared at the empty room.

“Now I guess it’s mine.”

Arthur’s mind was awhirl. So many things had happened in the last few minutes he could hardly think straight. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed.

“For what.” Merlin moved a few more things around, dusting them off, more out of a need to do something than real desire to straighten up; he wouldn’t be staying long. He took a sliver of wood and used it to light the oil lamps hanging on the walls.

“About your father.” Merlin stilled, his fingers twitching along the surface of the broken table. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

Merlin shook the flame from the wood splinter still burning in his other hand, snuffing it out. “No.”

For lack of anything better to do Arthur shut the door, hanging back as Merlin sank into the chair. Arthur sat beside him, a thousand questions on his tongue, but he bit them back. He’d never seen Merlin like this. If he wanted to talk about it he would, until then Arthur wouldn’t force him to talk, but neither would he allow Merlin to go through this alone. Merlin had always been withdrawn when it came to things that upset him, but Arthur would be damned if Merlin was going to push him away now.

They stared into the fire and Merlin put his head in his hands, his fingers tangling in the dark curls of his hair. His shoulders trembled and Arthur realized he was crying.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper, “but you’re frightening me Merlin. I’m worried about you.”  
Merlin took a shuddering breath and sat up, tears streaked across his face. “I’m sorry.” He choked on the words, swiping a hand beneath his nose. “I shouldn’t have-…earlier I mean.”

He tried to smile, nervous and shy, taking brief glances at Arthur, expecting him to run at any moment. "Not exactly the best reveal huh?" He tried to laugh but it came out sounding strangled and high. Arthur paled and looked away and Merlin ran a hand back through his hair, trying to hide his trembling. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How about here. You said this house belonged to your father, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in years.”

“That because no one has.” Merlin stared around the room, remembering. “I was just a kind when we lived here, and it wasn’t for long. We used to live further north; everything is covered in ash, the sky overcast and tinted orange with fire. Even at night the sky seems to burn.” He recalled bits and pieces of Solstheim, memories of his mother when she was still alive, before he’d known the cold of Skyrim and then the winters of Camelot.

“I thought you lived in Ealdor.”

Merlin laughed. “I did, but only for about five years. My father brought me to Ealdor when I was eleven, when civil war rent Skyrim and there was no longer a place for the Dovahkiin.”

“Dovahkiin?” Arthur echoed, struggling with the unfamiliar word, tripping over it with his tongue.

“In the old language of the Nords it means Dragonborn. A man or woman said to have been born with the soul of a dragon; like the dragon lords in Camelot,” Merlin explained, a fond if sad smile on his lips. “Actually it was my father who helped Uther defeat the great dragon; though for one of his kind Kilgarrah is a little small.” He chewed his lip, the smile fading little by little. “We weren’t the only ones to leave. A few more came with us to Camelot, others ran to the winds, scattering. I think I’m the only one left,” he murmured, but Arthur barely heard him.

“Wait, wait, you’re telling me your father could speak with dragons? I didn’t even know they could speak.”

“Most people don’t. To the average person a dragons’ words sound like nothing more than noise, but my father could both read and understand the language and even speak it himself, though the Thu’um should be used with great care and forbearance. One of Skyrim’s great king’s was killed by the Thu’um plunging them into years long civil war.

“Those who can wield a dragon’s words, the Thu’um, can call lighting from the sky, summon dragons, wake the dead, or call a storm of fire with nothing more than their voice.”

“Or shake a mountain to the ground,” Arthur said, an odd look on his face as he remembered a conversation they’d had weeks before.  
Merlin nodded solemnly. He turned to face Arthur. “You have to understand, magic is different here, Skyrim was founded on it, it’s at the heart of everything. The Dovahkiin are revered here as a kind of royalty; or at least they used to be.”

“And your father was one of these Dragonborn?”

Merlin nodded. “And so am I.”

Arthur stood and began pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind him. “But how do you know?” He spun to face Merlin a furrow between his brows, desperate to hang on to the last threads of what he knew was only an illusion. “You could be wrong.”

Merlin shook his head, looking somehow older than his twenty years. He glanced away. “I know because the ability to use the Thu’um only manifests itself when an elder is dead. In my case the ability passed from my father to me.”

“But you said you could already speak and read like your father,” Arthur argued.

“I said I could read it, not that I could speak it. The words had no power before.” His gaze was steady and Arthur’s stomach twisted itself in knots. “But I used my first shout yesterday morning.”

Arthur sank down into his chair, trying to wrap his head around everything. He glanced at Merlin sideways.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was Merlin’s turn to pace, a sour look on his face. “Because Camelot isn’t Skyrim and your father didn’t exactly welcome magic users or the Dragon Lords into his kingdom, or don’t you remember reading about the great hunt that took place to find them?” His eyes were accusing.

“But you still could have told me your father had died,” Arthur argued.

Merlin stopped, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. His shoulders were hunched and rigid and he stared into the fire.  
“I didn’t think you’d care.”

Arthur moved slowly, so as not to startle Merlin. His fingers ghosted along Merlin’s shoulders not quite committed to touched, but not pulling away. He ducked his head, trying to catch Merlin’s eye.

“Of course I’d care.”

A sob caught in Merlin’s throat and he choked on it, biting his knuckles to hold it back as Arthur turned him slowly. Merlin curled in on himself a moment longer, like a breaking dam struggling to hold back the building pressure before finally collapsing and he crumbled against Arthur’s chest, completely breaking down.

Surprised, it took Arthur a moment to react, but finally he wrapped his arms around Merlin, holding him tightly and the rigid fear in his back eased.

“You’re my friend,” he soothed, “of course I’d care.” He didn’t know what else to say so he stroked Merlin’s back, murmuring that everything was okay, whispering into his hair.

They stood together in front of the hearth as Merlin wept. “He wasn’t- he should have taken me with him. Why didn’t he take me with him?” He screamed and beat at Arthur’s chest, clinging to his shirt and hours could have passed as Arthur held him. When Merlin finally stopped fighting Arthur stepped back.

“You need to sleep. You’re exhausted.” He swiped at Merlin’s tears but Merlin batted his hands away and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, heaving a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t. The bed’s a mess, the sheets are moth-eaten, and there’s dust everywhere-”

“So it’s just like living with Gaius.”

That drew a laugh and a smile from Merlin though his eyes were red and puffy.

“Come on, we can clean it up,” Arthur urged.

Merlin scoffed. “We? What do you mean we? You wouldn’t know what a scrub brush was let alone how to use one.”

“By we I obviously meant you.” Arthur lifted his chin in the air, assuming the position of the high and mighty crown prince, more comfortable on familiar ground. “You really think I’m going to sleep on moth-eaten sheets? That may be well and good for Merlin but not for the crown prince of Camelot.”

“Prat,” Merlin grumbled.

“Idiot,” Arthur shot back and Merlin smiled sheepishly. He toed at the floor, gathering his courage.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably and glanced away, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Yeah, well, don’t expect it to become a habit.” He stilled and leveled a look at Merlin, but when he spoke his tone was soft. “You still have a lot to tell me.”

“Tomorrow,” Merlin promised not at all looking forward to that conversation, “we’ll talk tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur made and undignified grunt and jabbed Merlin in the back with a foot. Merlin swatted him away and was content to go back to sleep until the pounding started again. This time Arthur’s kick was more forceful, nearly knocking him out of bed. Finally taking the hint Merlin stumbled towards the door, barely able to keep his eyes open and grumbling obscenities as he went, ready to lay into whoever had woken him at such an ungodly hour.

With a scathing insult about low birth and mating with goats on his tongue he threw open the door and came face to face with the Riften legate, if the uniform and armor were anything to go by, half a dozen of the city’s guards at his back.

The Altmer sniffed derisively, scanning Merlin from head to toe before deigning to speak. “By order of the Jarl I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises…sir. You’re trespassing.” He adjusted a glove and looked down his long nose at Merlin. “You do realize breaking and enter is a crime do you not?”

Merlin leaned against the doorway, rubbing at his eyes, too tired to put up with this nonsense first thing in the morning.

“And who is the Jarl now?” he asked, trying to jumpstart his brain. It had been a long time since he was last in The Rift.

“Maven Blackbriar.”

Merlin winced. “Maven?” he spat, a sour look on his face. “That pretentious bi-” He nearly bit his tongue in half in his haste to backpedal. Not even he was stupid enough to go there. Maven was not someone he wanted to piss off, especially if she was now the Jarl of Riften. She had connections with the Thieves Guild and with his luck, the Brotherhood as well. It wouldn’t do to have assassins on his tail just because he’d pissed her off.

“That beautiful woman,” he ground out instead, forcing a smile that was more of a grimace. “I’m sure she’s perfect for the job.” If Maven was the Jarl he was glad he’d decided to break into Honeyside last night instead of going to visit the Jarl and try to convince them the house was rightfully his. He hated dealing with her and had hoped to leave Riften without so much as catching a glance of her.

“Look, the house belonged to my father,” he said, “I just came to collect a few things and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Can you prove that?” the Altmer asked.

“Prove what?” Merlin snapped. Spirits, he hated being up early.

“That the house was your father’s.” The Legate ground every word through his teeth, like grain under a mortar, apparently as irritable as Merlin.

Merlin knuckled his forehead. “No. Is there a fine or something I can pay? I’ll just get my stuff and be out of here in a couple of hours.” He’d planned on staying a little longer, but the sooner he moved along the better, especially if he’d gotten the attention of the guards. Haelga was right, he wasn’t doing a very good just of being inconspicuous.

“Five hundred gold,” the Legate said and Merlin nearly swallowed his tongue.

“Five hun- are you serious?”

“I am. Unless you would prefer to be taken to the dungeons.”

Merlin ground his teeth. “Fine. Just, give me a couple minutes.” He slammed the door in the Mer’s face before he had time to respond and stormed through the room to the basement. Digging around in the hay piled in one corner he found the loose cobbles, uprooting them one at a time until he found fresh dirt. Buried beneath the stones was an old strongbox Balinor had left behind in case they ever returned; he said it was a kind of backup plan to fall on should they ever need some place to stay. Merlin just hoped whatever gold had been left behind it would be enough to pay off the Legate.

The lock had been rusted shut and it took him several minutes to break open, but when he did he dumped the gold out across the floor, counting it out. He could give the Legate the five hundred gold and still have some to spare, but it wouldn’t be enough to cover everything they were going to need for their trip, especially now that he had Arthur to factor in.

Merlin tore his neckerchief from his throat and tied up the gold, carrying it back upstairs where he slapped it firmly into the Altmer’s palm.

“Happy now?” he snapped.

The Mer fingered the cloth speculatively before tucking the gold away.

“I’m going to be back in two hours. If I see you anywhere within Riften’s walls I will have you arrested.” The Legate turned on his heel and marched away. Merlin shot him a twisted smile before slamming the door again, grumbling fiercely.

There wasn’t much to pack but Merlin salvaged what he could from the house, stuffing everything into a worn travel sack he’d found hanging on a peg.

“Get up,” he scolded, shoving Arthur who had yet to rise. “We have to leave.”

Arthur grumbled unhappily. “You’re in a mood,” he groused, pulling the covers up over his chest and snuggling down into the bed, making no move to stand.

“Arthur. Get-up. Or I swear by Talos’ braided beard I will leave you here to make your way back to Camelot.”

Making his way back downstairs for one last sweep Merlin found a few soul gems and some crafting items he could sell to make a little more coin. He hadn’t even bought a horse yet and stealing one probably wasn’t an option. Merlin paused, savoring the thought before dismissing it as a bad idea. Once he’d stripped the room clean of hidden valuables he made his way back upstairs intent on keeping his promise to leave Arthur there if he wasn’t up, but to his surprise Arthur was on his feet and soon they were out the door.

It took longer than he would have liked to sell whatever he could without making his way to the guild but eventually they had enough to purchase two horses that weren’t worth what they had to pay for them and were on their way; and none too soon if the looks the guards were giving him were any indication.

“Where are we going?” Arthur rubbed his eyes and Merlin passed him a skin of sour wine to help him wake up as they started down the road and away from Riften.

“North.” He glanced at Arthur sideways, a sad look on his face. Arthur paused with the wineskin to his lips.

“What?”

“You really should go back,” Merlin said softly. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.” Or if they’d even come back, but he kept that thought to himself. He had no right to risk the Crown Prince’s life like this, but he wanted Arthur’s company. Together they’d overcome a hundred impossible situations; maybe it would work this time too.

“And leave you to face dragons, and wizards, and warlocks all on your own?” Arthur teased, but there was a tightness about his mouth.

Merlin flushed remembering his rant the previous night. He bit his lip, fiddling with the reigns of his mount. He’d been furious with his father and with Arthur for following him, for being stupid enough to come after him; for caring enough to. For a moment he’d been free of the restraints of Camelot and Uther’s tyrannical ban on magic and then Arthur had walked in and all of it came crashing down around Merlin’s shoulders. The fear of discovery, the desperation for freedom, the terror of losing Arthur like he’d lost his father, the weight of his secrets, hundreds of them, so many he’d lost track and all of it had been too much. He’d taken it all out on Arthur and part of him had hoped it would scare Arthur away; while another part desperately hoped he’d stay.

“You still haven’t asked,” he said, dancing around his thoughts. “About my magic.”

A muscle in Arthur’s jaw twitched and he kept his gaze focused stoically ahead and away from Merlin. Merlin shifted in the saddle, scratching a nail along the leather of the reigns as the silence stretched on. He wished he’d never said anything. Maybe Arthur had thought it all a dream. He clung to that notion and was about to make a joke denying everything and blaming it on the cheap ale of Haelga’s Bunkhouse when Arthur spoke.

“I’d rather not talk about it right now.” He turned and looked at Merlin and while he was obviously angry his eyes were soft. “I’m not sure how I feel about it,” he confided. “I just need some time.”

Merlin tucked his chin and nodded, feeling guilty but understanding that Arthur needed space to process everything that had happened; if Merlin were in his place he’d need time too.

“Why do they call you Ambrose?” Arthur asked and Merlin was grateful for the change of subject. He smiled softly, worrying at his lower lip and glanced at Arthur almost shyly.

“My middle name is Ambrosius.”  
Arthur snorted, snickering into his fist and he twisted in the saddle to better face Merlin.

“Ambrosius? Seriously?” he laughed.  
Merlin shot him a withering glare, but his eyes were smiling. “Yes Arthur, Ambrosius. There’s a legend in Solstheim that the Dova are immortal, that at the beginning of time the dragons gifted man with the Voice and the fruit of the gods and it made them immortal.

“When I was born, the son of a Dragonlord, my mother named me after the ambrosia in the hopes it would make me lucky and I’d have the gift like my father.”

Arthur grinned, all crooked teeth and open honesty. “I guess it worked.”  
Merlin shook his head, smiling to himself.

“Tell me about your home,” Arthur asked, his head tilted curiously to the side. “You said you lived in Solstheim?”

Merlin nodded. “You’ve never seen a volcano have you? It’s a mountain with a heart of fire, spilling liquid stone from the top, leaving rivers of orange and red down its sides that destroy everything in its path. Not even magic can stop something like that. It’s a force of nature, wild and uncontrolled, leaving everything covered in ash so thick it blacks out the sun.

“Solstheim is much like the rest of Skyrim in the north, cold, covered in snow and made of cliffs and stone, pines sprouting up between the rocks. Closer to the coast though everything is covered in ash; it permeates everything, falling from the sky like snow while the Red Mountain yet burns. In places there are giant mushrooms sprouting as tall as buildings where some people make their homes, living inside them and floating creatures with thin willow tendrils called netch who can be harvested for jelly.” Arthur didn’t look at all like he believed him.

“Are you sure you didn’t just make this place up Merlin? It sounds very…odd.”

“I suppose it is,” he admitted, “but you grew up in Camelot. By comparison Solstheim is strange, but it’s beautiful in its own way.” He was smiling fondly. “It’s home.” He glanced at Arthur, that shy look on his face again. “I’m glad to have a chance to show it to you.” He shifted in his saddle and went on.  
“We lived next to the sea,” he said, his voice somber. “On the border of Raven’s Rock, the central trading hub for all of Solstheim, nestled between the sea and a sheer rock face. You’d like it. It’s practically impenetrable.

“The entire city is filled with Dunmer, a race of dark elves save for a select few who’ve been mad enough to call Solstheim home.” He smiled at his own joke and this time it was a little brighter.

“And that’s where we’re going now?” Arthur asked.

“Eventually, but Solstheim is weeks away by horse or water and it’s dire I get there as soon as possible.”

Arthur looked at him like he was going to ask why, but changed his mind at the last moment. “So if we’re not going by horse or water how are we getting there?”  
Merlin chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Something faster.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes when Merlin didn’t elaborate. “What?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”


End file.
